Bound by Blood
by The-Fabulous-Person
Summary: Complete AU as of "The Golem" - In which the Witnesses discover a book, investigate a ghost ship, and Ichabod learns the truth of what became of his older brother James. - Rated T for violence and swearing.
1. Of Hessians and Demons

**Name:** Bound by Blood (working title)

**Rating:** T but may change to M

**Characters: **A lot.

**Summary:** While investigating a strange case of a ghost ship sighted in the Hudson, Abbie and Ichabod find an old book of legends containing Davy Jones and the Flying Dutchman. Ichabod soon finds out the truth of what really happened to his older brother James, who was believed to have defected to join a band of pirates.

**Disclaimers/Warnings: **I do not own Sleepy Hollow (to my greatest regret) or Pirates of the Caribbean. Yep, this is a crossover, and if prompted to move it I will, but I'm a viewswhore and I figure it may get more attention if I keep it in the Sleepy Hollow archive instead of the Crossover one. Also, it should be noted that this idea is not a TFP© original. I was inspired to start this story while browsing deviantArt. I came across this pic by Gracious-Anne: gracious-anne dot deviantart dot com / art / Bound-by-Blood-By-Blood-Undone – 417949482. Also, I know the timelines of the two series don't exactly line up. Here's the thing: I'm okay with that. This story is being written so that the Pirates series happens about 30 years later than it actually does, so it lines up with Ichabod's timeline (something far less flexible imho). My final disclaimer is that I haven't ever really done (or even really ever liked) crossover fics. This is my first foray into this kind of thing, and I welcome constructive criticism, but not asshole flaming comments.

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The Hessians were putting up a hell of a fight.

The portal behind them was a giant, gaping black hole ripped from the wall. Abigail Mills could only assume the room behind it had been destroyed, as the huge, evil black nothingness sucking up the contents of _this_ room seemed to stretch on forever.

It was fucking chaos. The wind whipping through the small office was knocking the bullets off aim, sending them bouncing around the room. Even as Ichabod dove into the closet, she threw herself under the nearest desk. Somewhere behind her, she could hear Jenny and Irving running for cover as well.

From the direction of the portal came a thundering roar.

The Hessians were yelling in rapid, panicked German, and a moment later she heard the agonized scream of one, followed by another roar.

Swallowing, Abbie scooted to the end of the desk and peeked around the leg.

The Germans were scrambling now, trying to get away from the massive, clawed hand crushing the life out of their comrade. Abbie swore she saw a gleaming eye in the portal as she rolled back behind the doubtful safety of the metal desk.

She could tell it was Crane who suddenly flung himself down beside her without looking. "Leftennant, did you see-"

"Yeah. How do we stop this thing, Crane?"

Gunfire erupted over their heads again, causing the two Witnesses to duck and cover their heads. Abby looked up in time to see her sister, face set in an expression of cold determination before she disappeared behind her cover again, just in time for the wall above her head to explode in a shower of plaster and splinters.

"Mills," Irving's voice crackled in her earpiece, haggard and furious. "You or English have a plan yet?"

"Yep." She leaned around the desk again, and emptied her clip into the arm holding the limp Hessian. Sizzling black blood spurted from where the bullets hit, but the creature seemed to not even notice. And now, something much larger than an arm was trying to push through the hole. Cussing as she felt the desk behind her and Crane rattling over the floor, towards the hole. "Move Crane, move!" She shoved against his shoulder, and they scrambled away from their protection just in time. The desk suddenly lifted and flew through the air, slamming into the wall next to the hole. It looked, for a moment, like the desk was stuck to a massive magnet. Then there was an ominous creak before the wall supporting the desk fell completely away, widening the portal.

_Fuck fuck fuck, that's a huge fucking skull._

Abbie reloaded and took aim at the massive head, bracing herself as the vortex tried to suck her in as well. She unloaded her clip again, and felt bullets ripping by her face from Jenny and Irving. Ichabod was crouched behind the only remaining desk in the office, and was frantically pulling sheaves of note paper from his pockets.

How long ago had they sat in the archives, making those notes? Was it really only that morning?

That look of triumph, the one she loved so fucking much, brightened his face but before she could ask what was up, he shot out from behind the desk and bolted…

_Right toward the portal._

He ducked and weaved through the flying debris, the bullets, and dropped to the ground in a perfect home-plate-slide when the demon's giant fist swept towards him.

He didn't, however, see the heavy military boot swinging right at his face before it was too late.

As his hand clamped around the thick staff and yanked it from the ground, one of the Hessians leaped out from his hiding spot and drop-kicked the Revolutionist in the face.

Time seemed to slow down for Abbie, and for a moment it felt like she'd suddenly been submerged into a pool of icy water. She couldn't hear, she couldn't breathe, she could only watch as Ichabod's head snapped back trailing an arc of blood before he collapsed on his back and lay there, unmoving.

The Hessian took aim, snapping his rifle to his shoulder, his mouth twisted in a cruel sneer as he aimed for Ichabod's heart. Before she could lift her own gun, something silver flew into her peripheral vision, and the next moment, a sword had embedded itself in the gunman's chest.

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**So leave a review, tell me what you think!**


	2. One-man cavalry

**I forgot to put this in the disclaimer:**

**This is obviously quite AU. I'm putting this about spring-time, and probably will wind up ignoring quite a bit that will happen in the episodes to come unless I can find a way to work it in. Pretty much doing my own thing here. Don't like it? Sorry.**

**Alrighty, here's the edited chapter. I like it better than the last one. I re-read it, and I don't think it's too graphic... If it is, let me know so I can change this back to an M rating.**

**Also, warnings: Blood, swearing, Abbie acting a tad OOC perhaps but I have a reason, I swear.**

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Jenny had been enjoying a day off from demons and magic and apocalyptic prophecies at her favorite diner, drinking the questionable coffee and slimy fried food that she had missed so damn much when she was locked up, when Frank Irving's police-issue SUV came to a screeching halt in the parking lot.

Of course, her immediate thought was: _Something's wrong._

She'd tossed down some bills on the counter and leapt off her stool.

_Say goodbye to any R&R._

For nearly a month, Moloch and his minions had been silent. They hadn't even seen a demon in nearly twice that long. Of course, they all understood that this was some kind of calm before the storm, and their paranoia had run rampant, but it had been nice to have some time to kick up their heels and recover from the last run-in with Ichabod's bestest friend Abraham before they were forced to confront Moloch's next little horror.

There'd even been enough downtime one lazy afternoon for Abbie and Jenny to take their favorite time-traveler out to the park to teach him baseball.

Two days ago, though, there'd been a break-in at a dinky little antiques shop. Not one of any repute, or real value, or Jenny would have known more about the stock.

But hey, every dog had its day, just like every dump of an antique shop occasionally acquired a real piece. At first, it hadn't seemed like anything special. There were no legends tied to the staff, no mysterious deaths or famous wielders. Or so they'd thought. When they realized the staff _could _be dangerous, Crane and the lieutenant had locked themselves away in the archives to study. _By themselves._ Because they never needed her until they needed their asses saved.

_And now look at this; they need their asses saved again._

She and the Captain had arrived just in time to watch the hole be blown through the wall into another dimension, and for the other two to go flying through the air in the blast. They had taken refuge in the hallway after a failed attempt to get nearer to Crane and Abbie, stationed on either side of the door.

She slammed another cartridge into her pistol and leaned around the wall, taking out one of the soldiers with a well-placed bullet to the throat, then ducked back as his friend took aim at her.

"This isn't going well!"

She flashed Irving a cocking grin. "What are you talking about, Frank?" She teased. "Aren't you having a good time?"

The captain scowled and flung an arm up to cover his face from the sudden rain of plaster. "Swell, _Jenny_. Do you know what the hell that staff is?"

"Yeah." She peered into the room as the creature began trying to shoulder his way through. "Bad news."

Captain Irving rolled his eyes and pressed a finger to his left ear. "Mills, you or English have a plan yet?"

Jenny smirked at that, and Abbie's reply. Guessing the plan, she leapt to her feet to empty her load into the great, black arm with her sister. She pulled her clutch piece from her hip as Crane and Abbie crawled out from behind the desk, covering them as it was flung through the room. "Cap, bullets aren't doing shit!" She cursed as Abbie, now with only one choice of cover, came to a halt directly in front of the portal. "You'd better call in—what the hell?!"

Idiot. The man was a damn reckless idiot… but you had to admire all that sexy athleticism and grace, and the way that coat and hair of his flared out behind him.

_Seriously, the man is like liquid sex. How does Abby resist gobbling that up?_

She saw the guy come up, literally a second too late: she watched the man's boot make contact with Tall, Dark, and British's face, and felt her stomach drop as he fell unconscious at the Hessian's mercy.

"Not today-" She took aim, and was shoved, hard, out of the doorway, bouncing off the frame before she fell onto her ass in a daze. She heard Irving's much larger, heavier body go down on the otherside of the arch and felt her stomach clench in fear-_Ohshitohshitohshit, Frank!_

"Stay here." She stared hard up at the man with shock and perhaps a little fear on her face, still too dazed to think about lifting her weapon. He was taller than either Ichabod or Irving, built lean and mean. He had dirty, dishwater-blonde hair, tied in a scraggly ponytail. She could see a filthy gray bandana wrapped around his head, under the floppy, ripped leather tricorn that looked like it was straight off a pirate ship. An equally worn-out red bandana covered the bottom half of his face. Above it, his eyes were hard and bitter, and his expression was pure ice. He wore heavy hiking boots that had seen better decades, a pair of faded, mud-splattered jeans, a loose, untucked button-up that had once probably been white, and a jacket five times more flamboyant than Ichabod's. He had a shotgun strapped to his back, a knife strapped to his calf, and a gleaming silver sword at his hip.

As she felt her bearings return, she fumbled for her fallen gun, scrambling away from the man. Then she froze in shock as the man draw the sword from his belt. He brought his arm back and flung the cutlass through the air, but didn't wait for it to meet any mark. As soon as the hilt left his grip, the guy was running forward, hefting the bad-ass looking shotgun to his shoulder with a tossed-back reminder. "Stay here."

_BOOM._

The nearest Hessian was blown away, drowning in his own gore. _Does… that make him a good guy? _She scrambled onto her hands and knees and crawled quickly towards Irving, grabbing his wrist to check for a pulse even as he stirred with a groan. "The hell…"

Jenny laid a steadying hand on his back, and settled the other—the one holding the gun—on his knee. "You're alright. Just a busted lip." So saying, she swiped her thumb through the blood and pat him on the shoulder. "Let's go get Crane and Abbie."

* * *

Abbie watched, shocked, as the man crumbled from the wound. Blood poured from his mouth, and he looked up at her with a confused expression, as if asking Abbie the same question she was asking herself: _What in the name of sweet baby Jesus just happened?_

The man dropped to his knees beside Ichabod, clutching at the hilt protruding from his heaving chest as if his last thought was to pull it out.

Her ears cleared with a _pop_ and Abbie felt herself sprinting forwards, shoving the Hessian away from her partner before dropping to his side herself. "Crane?" In her panic, she didn't even think of checking for a pulse, for a breath, for any sign of life from the man. Her hands clutched at the front of his shirt and gave him a hard shake. "Crane, can you hear me?" His face was pale beneath the smear of still-gushing blood. She couldn't tell where it was coming from, only that it covered him from hairline to neck. Bile rose in her throat as she shook him again, desperately. "Ichabod!"

_WHAM._

The chair came out of nowhere—it was one of those cheap metal fold-up deals, and the guy swung it at her like they were in a WWE match. Except this wasn't faked.

This fucking hurt.

She cried out in agony as she was flung sideways, falling on her back over Crane's legs. The pain was blinding and disorienting, and her arm and ribs were on fire. It felt like someone had jammed a pencil in her ear.

_Damn damn damn- _Abbie coughed weakly as she tried to push herself off Crane's legs. Her mind was screaming for her to _get up, get on your feet, you let your guard down, now you're gonna pay-_

The glinting muzzle of the rifle slid into her view, held by the mad Hessian standing with a foot on either side of her head. Her hand came up and weakly pushed at the weapon, a pathetic attempt to protect herself but the soldier just let out a harsh laugh and knocked her hand out of the way-

_BOOM._

Abbie had seen a lot in the past few months as one of the biblical witnesses; more than she had in all her years on the force. The only thing more horrifying than the gore raining down over her and Ichabod, staining the cheap, musty office carpet and soaking through her light t-shirt from the massive wound blown through his torso, had been the sight of a blood-drenched Ichabod striding from Lachlan Fredrick's manor. Abbie cried out and covered her face, too late, cringing away from the horrifying sight of the slaughtered man.

"_PUNY MORTALS"_

Abbie groaned, her fingers clutching at Ichabod's knee. "Jenny…" She tried to call for her sister as she forced her body—which screamed in protest with every inch—to roll over Ichabod's legs, closer to him. She needed help, she needed her sister-

"_I WILL DEVOUR YOUR SOUL, GRACE."_

The sound of her given name turned her bowels to ice, and even as she wanted to bury her face against Crane's side in sheer terror, her eyes lifted, slowly, automatically, to the single, fierce red eye that gazed back at her through the void.

The being stared directly at her, full of hate and pure malice, and suddenly she was a dumb teenager again, sneaking into the woods with her sister to drink beer only to walk right into a nightmare.

"_I WILL BREAK YOU,"_ She was shaking her head now "_I WILL MAKE YOU WATCH AS I TORTURE THE ONLY ONES LEFT THAT YOU HOLD DEAR,"_ She could feel the tears, and was powerless to stop them. Unbidden, the vision of Jenny, (_Jenny, I'm so sorry) _impaled on a spit over a fire, the life draining from her eyes as a horde of ravenous demons descended on her- "_SLOWLY."_ -of Andy, who she still couldn't truly hate, (_Andy, help me, please!) _his clammy, sagging skin stripped from his back from so many lashings- "_I WILL BRING THEM YEARS OF TORMENT," -_ of Irving, his head (_Oh god, please, someone help me) _on a spike and his mangled corpse at her feet- "_DECADES OF PAIN,"_ -Luke, screaming in agony as he was slowly (_This is all my fault…) _dismembered- "_UNTIL THEY ARE TAKEN BEYOND THE POINT OF BEGGING FOR MERCY,"_ -Henry, kind, sweet, damaged Henry, (_No! Oh god, make it stop!) _forced to experience every sin he'd devoured, until he claws out his own throat to try and escape the pain- "_AND EVEN THEN, I WILL NOT GRANT IT,"_ -And Ichabod… Ichabod, strapped to an altar, his stomach_ (No… no please, please stop… I'll do anything… just make it stop) _open, blood pooling on the stone beneath his lifeless body- "_AND YOU WILL WATCH EVERY MINUTE OF THEIR SUFFERING, AND KNOW IT IS BY YOUR DOING-"_

"Oh piss off."

The calm, derisive voice broke the trance. Abbie shuddered, crying out as her head shrieked in pain. The lieutenant jolted as someone's thick, jean-clad leg filled her vision. Her arms trembled with the effort of keeping herself up, but she tore her gaze away from that hateful eye, in a disfigured face that was now much closer than before, and tried to see the face that matched the leg. It was too much; with a pained grunt she collapsed against Crane, her head resting on his stomach and her hand clutching desperately at his shirt.

His torso shuddered.

_Oh god… you're still alive… Ichabod, Ichabod wake up…_

"_FOOLISH MORTAL,HOW CAN YOU HOPE TO STAND AGAINST ME?"_

"Abbie!" "Mills, wait-"

Everything was going so cold… it was getting hard to breathe—was that because the vortex was sucking all the air from the room, or because her lungs were collapsing?—but she felt Ichabod breathing beneath her cheek, and clung harder. _Keep breathing, Crane. Just keep breathing._

"Well," The mysterious voice, haughty and faintly accented, spoke again, just above her head. Abbie blinked, realizing she'd closed her eyes and stared past his boot. The demon had slammed his fist against the ground, the limp corpse still clasped in his fist. "That's what I brought this for." The shotgun went off with a blast like a canon, and the flash nearly blinded Abbie, even as she pressed her face to Crane's stomach to escape it.

Their bullets hadn't done a thing but give the demon something to be annoyed about. Whatever the stranger fired, though, caused the demon to let loose a bloodcurdling howl that shook the whole building.

"Abbie!"

The lieutenant groaned, shifting her legs, trying to bring them under her so she could sit up. The scream from the demon, rattled her and made her limbs shake. It hurt her ears and made her sick to her stomach, but she needed to move, she needed to get up, there were still Hessians and that strange man-

Someone was walking by her head in heavy boots. She could feel them brush by her head, and then Ichabod was moving beneath her. "Ich…abod…" She forced her head up and her eyes open, only to come face-to-face with the stranger, his ear pressed to Crane's chest. Strength surged through her, driven by outrage and fear for Ichabod's safety. "Get off!" She slapped at his hands, then his shoulders, shoving with all her diminished might. The stranger just shoved her hands away almost absently, and sat back on his haunches. When he grabbed for the staff in Ichabod's hands, Abbie shoved hard at him again, but her strength was fading. "Get off, let go…" she mumbled. Once again the man ignored her except to shake her hands off as he quickly extracted the staff from Crane's grip. "Stop…"

The stranger finally looked at her, watched her pull her own injured body over Ichabod's with an unreadable expression. She glared defiantly up at him, and as the demon roared, the stranger seemed to smile behind his mask. He gripped the staff in both hands, brought it high over his head, and swung down.

The demon's shriek seemed to detach her brain from her body. She watched the jewel set in the top of the staff swing down, down towards her and Ichabod. _This is it. I'm so sorry…_ Before the thought finished, she slumped against Ichabod and blacked out.

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**Leave a review.**


	3. Licking Wounds

**To the asshole(s) going around leaving fucked-up anonymous comments on all my stories, go to hell. You're not funny, you're not cute, you're a piece(pieces) of dirt. Please just leave me alone.**

**Now, I'm sorry that this is a bit late. I work retail, and I literally haven't had a day off in almost three weeks. Some of the comments being left on my stories make me less willing to continue any of them. After working twelve or more hours a day, more often than not dealing with flaming assholes and brain-dead dipshits who don't know how to read or count, coming home and reading these bullshit comments make me less inclined to use what little free time I have to do any writing. These comments are not constructive criticism, which I welcome, they are hurtful/rude/disgusting/annoying/bitchy/fucked up. You know who you are, you know what you're writing, and I would appreciate it all stopping. **

**Now, with that out of the way, I'll just remind you that this is the third chapter, and if you haven't read the updated second chapter, go read that first.**

**Hope you enjoy, don't forget to review, sorry again for the lateness. This week's update SHOULD be on time, because with Christmas over everything is slowing down.**

**EDIT: Okay, I seriously hate the way FFnet's story manager works now. Sorry for all the chapter updates, but I deleted the first chapters and messed everything up, because I'm tired and wasn't paying 100% attention, and how stupid is the layout on the chapter manager page anyway.**

**Should be fixed now. Sorry again.**

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"Abs."

The word was garbled, like Jenny was speaking to her over a phone with terrible service. She tried to force her eyes open to look up at her sister, but if felt like someone had poured glue into them while she was unconscious.

"Abbie, wake up."

_Ugh, Jenny, just let me sleep. I'm exhausted… Hooooly shit, ohmanohman… I feel like I got hit by a car… or a freaking chair. Jeeze._

"Come on, Abs. I know you're awake. Open your eyes." She felt Jenny's hand suddenly cover her own. Felt her sister squeeze her fingers, and Abbie squeezed them in return.

"Hate you." The lieutenant grumbled, without opening her eyes. _So glad you're okay._

Jenny rubbed a thumb over the back of Abbie's knuckles. "Ditto. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got my ass kicked by some German assholes."

Jenny chuckled quietly. "Can't imagine why you'd be feeling like that."

Abbie felt her lips quirk up in a smirk, and finally managed to peel her eyes open to look up at her older sister. Memories began flooding her mind, dancing before her eyes in terrible, horrifying detail. The Void, the monstrous hand, the awful voice, the sword, the pain, then the fractured bits and pieces after the chair had knocked her senseless. "What…" Her voice was cracked, and she swallowed once to try and clear it. "What happened?"

Jenny frowned as she continued rubbing Abbie's knuckles. She wasn't aware she was doing it, or how comforting it was to both sisters. For one hideous moment, she thought she'd forever lost her baby sister. As hard as it was between them, the thought of Abbie, dead, had Jenny trying and failing to blink back tears. "I don't know… that… that guy came tearing into the hallway and smacked me and the Cap out of the way. Irving went down and I went fuzzy. By the time we were both on our feet again, the guy had taken out the rest of the Hessians. Then he was standing there, in front of the portal, _talking _to that thing like they were discussing the weather." She made a face. "Then he shot it, with whatever was in that shotgun and turned on you and Crane. I thought, for a minute, he was going to finish you off, and I tried to shoot him but my gun jammed. Then he grabbed the staff and he…" Jenny gave her sister a bewildered look, her eyebrows disappearing into her bangs. "He smashed the head of the scepter on the ground, and then broke the staff over his knee. It was… madness. The void started doing this weird flexing thing, the demon-thing was screeching, and then all the heat and oxygen in the room just sort of disappeared, and this whirlwind came out of nowhere…" Jenny trailed off, staring at the wall on the opposite side of Abbie's bed with a dazed, thoughtful expression on her face.

Abbie gave her a few moments contemplation before speaking up. "What about Mystery Dude?"

Jenny shook her head. "I don't know. By the time everything settled down, and I got to you and Crane, the guy was gone. Like he'd never even been there."

Abbie frowned at that, flashing back to the office—_The strange man, covered in the spattered gore of the Hessians he'd blown away, leaning over Ichabod's heart with something like concern in his eyes—_before she gave a grunt and tried to force her violently protesting body up into a sitting position. "Where's Crane?"

Jenny's hands pressed carefully, yet firmly, against Abbie's shoulders. "He's okay, just a little dizzy still. You're pretty banged up though, Abs. The doctor said you need to stay down."

The lieutenant fought back only half-heartedly and for only a moment before she allowed herself to be pushed back down with a resigned snort. Abbie told herself the only reason she flopped back against the pillows was because she was tired; too tired to deal with an argument right now. Shoving down her pride for the moment, Abbie let out a low breath before looking around, realizing that she was in a dimly-lit hospital room, on one of four uncomfortable beds ranged against the wall opposite the door. Jenny had pulled up the room's only seat, a sagging armchair that looked nearly as ancient as the Mystery Dude's boots. It was starting to go dark outside now, she could see from the narrow opening in the ugly curtains covering the room's single window.

Sighing again, the battered woman closed her eyes. "How're you doing?" She asked quietly, squeezing Jenny's fingers and slitting an eye open to look at her older sister.

Jenny laughed quietly and propped her chin up in her hand, dropping the elbow that belonged to it on the edge of Abbie's mattress. "Sore and tired, but what's new?"

"What about the captain?"

"Mystery Dude gave him a good hard conk, but he's alright. Just trying to come up with a suitable story for the building we trashed and the fourteen dead Germans the ME wheeled out."

"We got them all?"

Jenny shook her head. "I saw a few take off after our one-man cavalry came to the rescue and skewered that ugly sucker, but we got a few. One of them…" Abbie hesitated. "Abbie, one of them was a cop."

Abbie felt her heart sink, and now she did push up into a sitting position. This time, Jenny didn't stop her. "Who?"

"Officer Turpin, out of Homicide. Irving's got his rats sniffing through the man's squad, seeing if there might be any others hiding out there, but so far there hasn't been any news."

Abbie snorted and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, filled with the sudden need to seek out her fellow Witness. She ignored Jenny's protests and pushed away her hands. "They've been hiding out in Sleepy Hollow for almost three hundred years; one rat squad that doesn't even know the whole story isn't going to change that. Where's Ichabod?" She was standing on shaky legs now, slapping away Jenny's hands every time the elder tried to push her back down. "Jenny, I'm tired and sore, I just want to find Ichabod and go ho-"

As though summoned by his name, the door to the tiny room swung open to reveal very bedraggled Ichabod Crane.

Abbie finally gave into the weakness of her knees and sank onto the edge of the gurney, giving the time-traveler a thorough once-over. His shoulders were sagged, and his long jacket seemed to hang loose on his frame. It was spotted with blood, as was his shirt, but thankfully his face and neck had been (mostly) scrubbed clean, which made the deep bruising around his eyes, nose, and across his cheeks stand out brilliantly against his still slightly too-pale face. His hair was mussed, his eyes swollen almost shut beneath the bruising, and his lips were turned down at the corners in a tired grimace. When his eyes landed on Abbie, though, they lit up and his frown was quickly replaced with an equally tired smile. "You're awake."

Fondness for the man swamped her then. She closed her eyes and nodded, gripping the mattress on either side of her so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Jenny stood silently next to the bed, one hand still resting on Abbie's shoulder. She watched Ichabod shift his weight from one foot to the other, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried not to topple over. Her gaze fell to Abbie, who seemed determined not to break the tense silence in the room. Clearing her throat, Jenny squeezed her sister's shoulder. "I'm gonna go check on Irving." She walked to the door, pausing only long enough to touch the back of Ichabod's hand. "Off your feet, English. As long as you're down, maybe she'll stay that way too." She murmured, knowing Abbie would pop up just to spite her sister if she heard. At Ichabod's nod, Jenny left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Crane's faltering footsteps approached Abbie's bedside, and a moment later, her eyes still shut, she heard him flop gracelessly down into the chair, too wiped out to be his usual, elegant self. "Are you well?"

His quiet question drew a sigh from the lieutenant, and her eyes popped open to regard him thoughtfully. "Yeah." _You're okay._ "You look like shit." _But you're alive. We all made it out alive, that's all that matters._

Ichabod grimaced, and lifted a finger to gingerly probe the dark discoloration on his cheeks. "I'll assume that is another of your colorful euphemisms I have yet to grasp, and that it means I look unwell."

"You got it, Ace." She chuckled.

The soldier grinned, and leaned back in the ancient chair. "I could respond in kind, and inform you of your own thrashed state, but it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me."

Abbie smirked, and rolled her head on her shoulders to try and ease the ache in her neck. "Not if it's true. That asshole had a heavy swing."

"He really hit you with a chair?" Abbie nodded. "How very rude."

Abbie just laughed.

* * *

A few hours later, Irving rolled his shoulder for the hundredth time that day.

When their mysterious ally had appeared, Irving had gone with instinct and aimed for the stranger's head, only to be pistol-whipped and shoved out of the way. He'd landed on his left arm wrong, and now, as a result, that side ached fiercely. On top of his headache from the blow, and the stress headache brewing behind that one from having to weave together yet another believable cover-up, deal with the political nightmare of having yet another officer in his department revealed as a dirty cop, and find a way to avoid a lawsuit from the owners of the office complex, his jarred shoulder continued throbbing dully until all he wanted to do was find the shadiest bar in town and drink himself into a stupor.

His one-year coin felt heavy in his breast pocket whenever those thoughts entered his mind.

So instead, he shut himself away in his office with cheap, bitter black coffee with the consistency of tar, and bent to the task of emptying his overflowing in-tray.

He had a rhythm going now, and was just signing off on a report from Morales about some strange thefts near the port when there was a knock on his door.

"Go away."

Ignoring the waspish tone of his voice, Jenny bumped the door open with her hip. "Now _that's _not very friendly."

"What do you want, Mills?"

Jenny slid into the uncomfortable seat facing his desk, pushing off the hood of her sweater and giving him a look-over. She knew the man was only in his middle forties, but she'd never seen him look quite this _old_ before. He looked… rugged, but not in that hot-movie-star-older-guy-rugged kind of way. Rugged like a man who had gone a week without sleeping, eating, or bathing, then survived a shoot-out with a group of German mercenaries.

_Oh wait._

He hadn't looked up from his paperwork-which he'd been doing since before Abbie had woken up-and while that irked her a little, she ignored it. "Abbie was getting antsy, so I took her and Crane out to the cabin. Crane was too embarrassed, bless his adorable, prudish heart, to go to Abbie's apartment, but Abbie is still pretty out of it. She thinks she's the one keeping an eye on Ichabod."

Jenny couldn't be sure, but as Irving scribbled his signature out on yet another form, she thought she saw the corner of his lip quirk up in a smile. "Why didn't you just stay and keep an eye on both of them?"

"The amount of stubbornness and sass in the room when those two get together is unbearable." _And someone needs to check up on you, Captain._ "Thought I'd drop by, make sure you weren't working too hard." When he ignored her, she leaned forward in her chair. "You need to take a break, Frank."

Now he finally did look at her, his expression set in an annoyed glare. "We took a break, Mills. Look how well that turned out."

"Every war has it's quiet moments, Captain, and soldiers who get complacent. We took some hits today, but not only did we survive, we stopped them."

"Only because someone else came in and saved our asses."

Jenny sighed. "Come on, Captain. He just helped us stop them sooner." _Probably. We could have taken them. Probably._ "The Germans are dead, the portal is closed, the staff is broken, and we found a mysterious new friend today. Now you need to take a step back, breathe, or you're going to wear yourself down until you snap."

"If that's a crack about my age-"

Jenny let out an over-exaggerated sigh and shoved to her feet. "Nevermind. Forget I was even here. Work yourself to death, save the Horseman the trouble. Night."

She stormed towards the door and had yanked it open before he spoke again. "Mills." Counting to five so she wouldn't say something she regretted, Jenny turned silently and regarded the man behind the desk. Sympathy sent a sharp pang through her gut as she looked at him, his shoulders drooping and his face in an upturned hand, fingers massaging his eyes. His other hand was fisted loosely on the desk. The quiet between them was thick and awkward, and Jenny shifted from foot to foot as she waited for the older man to speak. "I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my plate."

"It wouldn't kill you to delegate once in a while. There have to be a few cops in the precinct that aren't whacked-out minions of some ancient, evil demon, who want nothing more than to kill you." It pulled a harsh, short laugh from him as he rubbed his eyes, trying to ease the headache behind them. "Come on, Frank. You need a break and a beer, and come to think of it, I could use one too."

* * *

**So it's just a filler chapter, really, nothing very exciting after such a long wait. I promise the next chapter will be more interesting/probably longer. For now, good night, and don't forget to leave a review.**


	4. Another Dead

**Alright, so I got a PM from a reader about the note in my last chapter.**

**To clarify, the note was not aimed at the majority of the reviews I'm receiving. The ones I was talking about are from one or more individuals who are going around leaving disgusting/demeaning/rude/disturding comments on my stories. Basically really bad trolling. These comments have been deleted because I don't want to look at them, and I don't want my readers to have to see them. They are not constructive in any way, they aren't even annoying flames, which I can easily ignore. They're the product of bored, disturbed individuals who need to piss off.**

**I apologize if anyone else thought the note had been aimed at them.**

**Anyway, LOOK! I made a post on-time! Hooray! And no issues with this one!**

**So proud of myself. :)**

**It's also long, and hopefully kind of interesting at least. **

* * *

Her stomach growled as she stepped out of the tiny mom-and-pop bakery with two to-go cups of cheap, fragrant coffee and a bag of fresh pastries.

Two days had gone by since the incident. Two days in which the homes of the slaughtered Hessians had been turned upside-down. Two days in which every house they entered had been found already ransacked by another, unknown, party. It was too weird to be any kind of coincidence; it didn't fit any of the DB's personality profiles. These were ruthlessly organized individuals with falsified human attachments who needed to blend in. Most of them lived alone, and nearly all of them lived very Spartan lives. Yet every single home, office, car, personal space of any kind looked like a tornado had gone through it. Nothing appeared to be missing…

_Then again, if it was missing, how would we even be able to tell?_ Abbie thought to herself, crossing the street to her SUV.

She could see Crane inside, concentrating intently on the device in his hands. His face, still a brilliant painting of blacks, blues, reds, and greens, was contorted with that concentration as he attempted to defeat the devilry of modern technology.

"I'm sorry," Abbie quipped as she opened the driver-side door with one hand, while the other balanced the cardboard drink carrier and the pastry bag. "I don't recall you having permission to play with my phone."

He slid her an exasperated sort of glance. "You were taking your time in there, and you had one of those… textual messages from the Captain."

She rolled her eyes heavenward. _Lord, give me the patience to… actually, just give me all the patience, for both our sakes._ "And you just thought you'd try and answer it, even though you'd probably wind up doing irreparable damage to the phone's settings."

Ichabod sniffed, turning his shoulder to her as he fiddled with the touch-screen. "I take offense to your tone and implications, Leftenant. I've been practicing."

"Crane, gimmie the damn phone or I will shoot you."

Huffing, he tossed the phone to her and Abbie was pleased to see he hadn't even figured out how to get past the passlock. Not because he didn't know her password, she thought with a grin, but because he still could barely work a mouse, let alone a touchscreen. "Here—breakfast." He threw him the bag of pastries, then held out the drink carrier for him to hold while she got settled. He set that gingerly on his lap, extracting her cup with the utmost care while she buckled up.

"I should think that having been here nearly six months," He was pouting now, his voice petulant. Abbie rolled her eyes and gulped the scalding coffee. "I deserve a little more confidence from you."

"Crane, the last time I left you alone unattended with my tech, you started a video chat with an amateur pornstar and downloaded some racist hillbilly's vlog."

The time-traveller flushed furiously and hid his shame in his coffee cup. "That was months ago, and it was an accident."

"Shut up and eat your donut holes." His bruised and lacerated face lit up with childish delight as he opened the bag to find she had, indeed, purchased the delicious balls of glazed dough that he had become so fond of. Placated, he popped two into his mouth and sat chewing them contently while she opened up the message from Irving and sipped her coffee at a much more reasonable pace. "The Captain says they've finished with the last of the Hessians' homes, and the CSI teams haven't found a fucking thing to help us."

"Isn't it odd-" Ichabod spoke through a mouthful of donuts. Covering his mouth with the side of his hand, he swallowed before continuing. "-that not a single soldier had any sort of… contact list? Or anything concrete tying them to one of the others?"

Abbie frowned. "Covering their tracks. They wouldn't want a dinner guest to pop in to their study to make a quick call, and accidentally come across a filed labeled 'fellow terrorists and minions of the almighty Moloch' on their desk."

Ichabod nodded, and shook the bag slightly to unearth more donut holes from beneath the other pastries. "Yes, but even members of secret organizations have some kind of… list, or file, or even a bloody scrap of parchment with a manifesto or at the very least, the name of a fellow soldier. Something. How else are they to recognize fellow… patriots, as it were?"

Abbie nodded slowly. "I get you, but maybe there's some kind of… other place where these guys meet. And recruitment is kind of like… passed down through the family, or down by brainwashing, or what?"

"Still, I simply cannot accept that at least one of them did not make note of their nefarious companions and activities _somewhere._ It's just not probable, in this age of technology especially, that not a single one has contact information for one of the others."

The lieutenant tapped her fingers on the wheel. "Remember that Gunther guy? From the thing with Solomon's book?" Ichabod nodded. "He said even he didn't know how many Shadow Warriors there were."

"Yes, but he did have ways of contacting those he did know."

"Alright English, I get what you're saying." Abbie rubbed her lip as she scrolled through her messages. Another pinged in her inbox, this from one of the techs at the lab. "Hey, looks like one of our uniforms found a building with working cameras near the scene, and they pulled some pictures off it."

Crane's brows lifted beneath his bangs in interested surprise. "Are they clear pictures?"

Abbie pulled a face and gave a short jerk of her head. "Not really. Bad quality, long-distance… wait…" She squinted, hard, and Ichabod gulped down another donut, peering over the console between them at her phone. "Wait… I might know this guy." She enlarged the picture, and turned her phone, her eyes narrowed nearly to slits.

Ichabod wiped his mouth with one of the thin napkins from the bag, cringing when he accidentally brushed his nose with his thumb. "You recognize one of them?"

The lieutenant shrugged. "Maybe… it's hard to tell, and I don't really know the guy." She turned off her phone, and set it in the cup holder before turning the key in the ignition.

"Who is he?"

"Well, if he's the guy I'm thinking of, he's a small-time drug dealer Jones busted a couple years back, when I had just joined the force. I remember the guy, mostly because he gave me the heebies." She waved off Ichabod's blank look and the question she knew was coming the moment he opened his mouth. "He was a creepy guy, and when Jones and his at-the-time partner were muscling him past my desk, he stopped screaming police brutality and just kind of… stared at me." She shuddered at the memory. "It's been years, but the coloring, the height of the guy in the pic… I don't know…"

Ichabod nursed his coffee, thinking. "Would it be illegal for us to pop in and get a look at the man? Perhaps we'll recognize him?"

Abbie pursed her lips. "Not illegal, per say. He could holler harassment, technically, but there's no reason he should—not that we'll give him." She plugged the name the tech had sent her—Ryan Fredrickson—into the computer built-into her dash, and pulled up his information. "Says here he lives at-"

The radio crackled to life. "_All units, we have a possible homicide reported at 2532 South 117__th__ avenue."_

Over the computer, Abbie and Ichabod exchanged a look; on the screen, under the ID picture, was the suspect's address—2532 S 117th AVE.

* * *

By the time they pulled up the street, four other patrol cars, the mobile CSI lab, and the coroner's van had arrived. She parked halfway down the street, and waited by the hood of the SUV for Ichabod to come around from the passenger side before approaching the tape. She flashed her badge at the uniform that approached them when Ichabod lifted the tape out of her way. The uniform's eyes flashed to Ichabod as he and Abbie ducked beneath the tape. "You must be the professor. From England."

The back of Abbie's neck prickled. Crane just looked confused. "Erm… yes. Professor Crane, I'm… ah-"

"Consulting. Yeah." The uniform smirked, and Abbie wanted to punch him in the face. "Detective Morales told us all about you."

Abbie grabbed Ichabod's elbow and pulled him away from the uniform. "Don't you have a scene to secure, officer?" While the young man looked at least a little chastised, he still had that damn smirk on his face. "Asshole…" She muttered.

"What on earth was that about?" Crane asked, gently brushing her fingers from his elbow with the opposite hand.

Abbie shook her head. "Nothing, let's just focus on the task at hand." He nodded shortly and as they stepped onto the porch, he slowed his steps so she would enter first. "_Damn_…"

Ichabod found himself sharing her whispered sentiments. Barely two feet in the door, and he could see this residence would be in an identical state to the others, minus the body lying in the archway that led to the tiny kitchen. There were clothes strewn all around the floor; papers, shoes, discs, a broken chair, at least a dozen bullets (that weren't embedded in the walls), and plenty of blood covered the old, cracked, wood-patterned linoleum that had been used in this entrance/hallway/living area/dining room. The Englishman started forward as Abbie turned to speak with one of the techs, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the small, poorly-kept apartment and the chaos it had been reduced to. Though he was still plagued by his old-fashioned sense of impropriety, he had been to Miss Mills' apartment. While it was small itself, he believed at least two of this man's apartments could fit comfortably in hers. Despite the obvious signs of struggle and search in this apartment, he sensed on a normal day it was quite a pigsty. Abbie's apartment was cheerfully cluttered, without being uncomfortable. This apartment smelled like sweat, unwashed clothing, bad food, and dirt beneath the age-old scent of violent death. Abbie's apartment smelled like coffee, laundry detergent, and the vanilla-scented candles she liked to burn. Ichabod wondered briefly if the coldness of this apartment had anything to do with the dead body, just like he was sure the warmth of Abbie's apartment had everything to do with the woman that lived inside it. He edged carefully through the mess, and around the investigators, taking everything in. Frowning slightly, he pulled a one of the annoying, foul-smelling latex gloves from his pocket.

For months now he'd been carrying them, ever since Abbie had nearly had a heart attack when he'd picked up a letter-opener at a crime scene. Thankfully, that hadn't been the murder weapon, yet he'd not only been lectured by her, but Irving, the chief medical examiner, and two members of the CSI unit by the time they'd closed the case.

As much as he completely despised these uncomfortable blue gloves, it was easier to carry around a few pairs just in case. He pulled it onto his hand before kneeling next to a pile of vandalized books, trying to focus on the matter at hand and not his outrage over the state of the books. He was thumbing through one when he heard Abbie's unmistakable steps behind him. Since she was quiet, he remained the same, setting aside the current book in favor of another. "What're you seeing that I'm not?" Was her simple question.

Ichabod closed the book and lifted it to Abbie. When she took it, he pulled another glove from his pocket and put it on his bare hand. "Three layers of disorder."

Abbie was flipping through the book now, her expression thoughtful. If anyone else had said something like that, she would have given them a look, snorted, and said there was no possible way they could know that. This was _Ichabod_ though, and she'd learned not to question his deductions. Instead, she just nodded and said "Alright. What are the layers?"

Ichabod stood and waved his hands, palms-down, over the mess. "This man lived in squalor. Under the chaos, you can see that the rooms were already a mess. He's very disorganized, there are empty beer bottles and canisters, take-out boxes, stale laundry." He swiped a finger over the dilapidated bookcase that had been cleared off in a hurry—the disks, books, and various items the shelves had held were now strewn over the floor—and came away with a thick smear of dust on the tip of the glove. "Dirt." Clasping his hands behind his back again, he nodded to the shabby leather suitcase in the entranceway. "Then there are the unmistakable signs of someone packing in haste. And lastly, a search." He bent and picked up an old VHS tape with a faded case, and studied it for a moment, before tipping it towards Abbie. "'Yank my Doodle, it's a Dandy'?"

Abbie's eyes went wide and she snatched the video away from the soldier. "Jesus, Crane." While he simply looked perplexed, Abbie's face felt like it was on fire and she quickly tossed the tape back onto the shelf. "Just… don't touch anything, okay?" Shaking her head, and feeling mildly unclean now, she gestured for him to lead the way out of the room, into the hallway. "Come look at this." The ME had pulled the body out of the closet now, and he was lain out on a blue tarp. Chief Examiner Richard Berenski, with his shaggy gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, hanging jowls, and his stupid Hawaiian shirts that he wore under his smocks (or in this instance, since they were at the scene, under the gray jacket with SHPD printed in yellow on the back), was one of her favorite people in the department. He'd been good friends with Corbin, and was still dear to Abbie. He sent her an easy smile as she crouched across the body from him. "Show Crane the wound."

Berenski nodded to Ichabod. "Professor." He peeled back the victim's bloodied jacket and nudged aside his shirt, showing Ichabod the gaping would directly over the man's heart. "TOD was approximately oh-two hundred this morning. Got a puncture, approximately an inch-and-a-half long here. We'll still have to do an autopsy, but I've no doubt this was the wound that killed him."

Ichabod nodded slowly. "Did it pierce him through?"

Berenski smirked, and rolled the victim over by lifting his shoulder, showing them the slash in the back of the jacket. "It's a nasty wound. From what I'm seeing, after the initial jab, the attacker pulled it out with a downward-sawing motion, cutting him open further."

"Do you have any idea what kind of blade may have been used?"

The old man barked out a laugh and nodded. "A sharp one."

* * *

"A blade." Ichabod scratched his chin as they headed back to the SUV. "Blades aren't a common murder weapon in this era, are they?"

Abbie shrugged. "Well, for Sleepy Hollow any murder weapon is uncommon. We weren't exactly a mecca of violent crime before you and the Horseman showed up." She watched him from the corner of her eye as he shuffled his feet nervously, and hurried to continue. "You generally need a license to carry a gun in this day and age, so they're harder to get a hold of than knives, but when have criminals ever followed the law? A sticker long, thick, and sharp enough to cut a guy open like that though?" She unlocked the doors of the SUV as they crossed the street, and clambered up into her seat as Ichabod slid himself gracefully into his own. "That's pretty uncommon." She paused, one hand on the wheel and the other lifting to point at her companion. "You're thinking the mystery swordsman from the office might be the guy that ganked our vic." At his blank expression, Abbie waved her hand. "Stabbed."

Ichabod nodded. "If blades are as uncommon in this world as you say they are, then perhaps."

Abbie started the SUV. "You know what's even more uncommon? Blades long enough to go all the way through a guy's chest, and guys strong enough to put them there."

* * *

They found themselves in the Archives again, not out of necessity but out of habit. It was so much quieter in there, and they didn't have to do their secret dance around Ichabod's origin, the Hessians, Moloch or any of it. They could speak freely here, and besides that, it was a more comfortable setting for Ichabod.

He hated to admit it, but even after so long in this time, he would find himself becoming overwhelmed by the assault on his senses. The quiet of Corbin's cabin, of the Archives, and occasionally of the lieutenant's apartment were welcome respites from this noisy world. Abbie was at their usual table on her laptop, looking for any crimes in the area where a sword of any kind had been used. He chose to revisit Corbin's notes, and do research from there while she worked.

They'd been at it for a few hours when the door opened, and Irving walked through. Abbie pushed herself to her feet while Ichabod untangled his legs from beneath him. "Captain."

Irving nodded to her, then to Ichabod, and lifted up the flimsy cardboard drink carrier. When she saw the Starbucks logo, Abbie thought she could kiss the man in her gratitude. "Thought you guys could use some fuel. What have you learned?"

"Thanks. Not too much, actually." Abbie took her drink from the carrier before he could change his mind from her lack of information. "We know the blade used in the murder was long and sharp enough to pierce completely through the chest, and the unsub had enough strength to do so. We know the victim was packing, and we've learned that he purchased train tickets to Maine yesterday around eighteen-hundred."

Irving nodded. "Was he a member of the Shadow Fighters?"

"Warriors." Ichabod murmured.

"What?"

Abbie bit her lip, trying to hide a smile as Ichabod seemed to shrink back from Irving's frown. "Ah… Shadow _Warriors…_" When Irving's expression didn't lighten, the Englishman took his coffee and shuffled away from the desk. "Thank you for the coffee, captain."

Irving frowned after the man's back, before flicking his gaze back to Abbie. "Well?"

Setting her expression to neutral, Abbie nodded. "We found the mark of the 5th Battalion on his right shoulder."

"So we've got a bunch of these German fucks' homes torn up," Irving tapped one of the files laid out on the desk. "And now one of said fucks dead in his torn-up home." He spread his hands in question. "What the hell is going on, lieutenant?" He tapped his hand against another file, this one concerning the soldier that had been skewered by the mysterious swordsman at the office. He lowered his voice unnecessarily. "Mills, I want to think the masked vigilante was just some kind eccentric good citizen. I want to think whoever is searching the homes of these dead Hessians is one of their own, just trying to destroy evidence to make it harder for us to track them down. What I _don't_ want to think is that we have some crazy sword-wielding Batman out in the streets, making us look like incompetent fools while he wipes out Moloch's human sleeper cell under our noses." He pushed away from the desk. "Unfortunately, that's what I'm starting to think. Figure this out, Mills. Find our masked Musketeer, and lock him down before he puts anymore dead soldiers in my lap."

* * *

**Leave a review!**


	5. The Ketchup Incident (and a pirate ship)

**I feel like my ranting maybe scared you guys away. 'Twas not my intention.**

**If that's not the case, and you guys just aren't as talkative as my usual readers, that's cool. But, maybe just drop a smiley in the review box, just so I know people are still chilling out around here, and are interested in the story?**

**I'm not going to be all: "Grr! Review or no story para tu!" Because I don't like seeing that: I feel like it cheapens the story. But reviews make me happy, and a happy author means better writing. ;)**

**I was *ahem* 'informed' by my beta that there are no pirates in the story yet, and she wants pirates or she'll dismember me.**

**Pirates are coming, I promise. Pirates and ships and maybe, if you're lucky, cannon fire. =3 Every story needs set-up, right?**

**SUPER LATE update. There are many excuses I could use, the most important of which is I actually forgot today was Thursday. I thought it was Wednesday. **

**I was wrong.**

**But with an hour and twenty minutes to go, I finished! Hooray me!**

**Enjoy the fluffy filler.**

* * *

Abbie spent the rest of the day pouring over reports and rifling through personal effects from the victim. Ichabod resumed his seat in one of the alcoves, surrounded by stacks of lore books, anthologies, essays, and Washington's bible. His pen (and while he missed the familiar weight and feel of a quill in his hand, he had to admit a pen was a fascinating—and much neater—update) scratched rhythmically at his notepad. Neither spoke to the other during the long hours, too absorbed in their own projects. Even when they had to get up, to turn on the lamps around the room so they could continue reading, they were quiet. It wasn't until long after the sun had gone down and the traffic outside had all but disappeared that Abbie's stomach growled, and her forehead creased in annoyance. "I'm starving." She checked her watch, frowning again when she realized what time it was. "I'm not getting any farther on this case tonight, and I could use a burger. You hungry?"

Ichabod shook his head slowly. "Goodnight, Miss Mills."

Abbie grabbed her coat, looking over her shoulder at the soldier. "You're not coming?" Ichabod glanced up from his current tome, and Abbie realized tiredly that dark shadows were forming under his eyes again. _Ho'boy,_ she thought.

"At this point in my research, I feel it would be irresponsible to take a break. Enjoy your meal."

Despite the clear dismissal, Abbie approached his table and leaned over his shoulder to read the page. Unsurprisingly, it was old, faded, and hand-written in some ancient language. No wonder he looked so frustrated on top of the obvious fatigue. "What research, Crane?" She asked quietly, though she felt she already knew.

He tapped his pen against the notepad, seeming for a moment like he would simply ignore her. Then he quite suddenly leaned back, nearly smacking his head into Abbie's mouth, and shut the book. "The usual kind, Abbie." The use of her name had the lieutenant's stomach clenching. She wished there was something she could say, something she could do to comfort him now, but she understood that was a fruitless endeavor. He flipped his notebook shut, and pushed back. Abbie back peddled quickly as the heavy chair scrapped over the floor. "Actually, I could use a meal. Burgers, I believe you said?"

"Woah, Crane-" She laid a hand on his forearm, and lifted a brow when he tried to pull away from her. "Ichabod."

He faltered, turning to look at her with a sad smile. "I'm alright. Truly." His hand covered hers briefly, conveying silent gratitude.

She squeezed his arm, and jerked her head in the direction of the door. "Okay then; get your coat, English. Dinner's on me."

"Dinner's always on you." He quipped.

Abbie laughed. "Shut up, smart-ass."

* * *

Abbie thought about going through the drive thru of the burger joint, but decided against it. It was good to go out, sit in the hard plastic seats, surrounded by the smell of grease, burnt meat, unclean bodies, and the other various scents of fast-food eateries across the nation, while you listened to the colorful language of the other people that decided to sacrifice health for taste and convenience. She sat across from Crane in one of those hard plastic booths, watching with no small amount of amusement as Ichabod struggled to open a ketchup packet without making it explode again. "I can show you, Crane." She said as he painstakingly peeled back the corner of the packet, trying to get it to rip. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he worked, and replied with a grunt that she took as a no. A few seconds later, a tear finally appeared in the packet, and his eyes lit up with delight. The soldier went to pull it open all the way-

It exploded. Tomato paste splattered his fingers and the table top, and smeared on the sleeves of his jacket. "Oh, curse it all!" He grouched.

Abbie bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh, and passed him a handful of napkins. Again. "At least some of it got on the fries." So saying, she reached over and grabbed the only fry that had been caught in the ketchup disaster. Smirking, she ate the fry.

"You're cruel."

As Abbie chuckled at his dejected expression and expertly opened another ketchup packet for him, the door to the restaurant swung open before four very large, very loud men. "-swear ta' you, it was a honest-to-God pirate ship, coming down past the docks."

Two of the others issued sounds of dissent while the fourth man gave the first an annoyed shove. "Quit bullshittin', Tim."

Tim looked like he was about to strike the fourth man. Abbie and Ichabod watched them warily, though Ichabod was more interested in the conversation while Abbie was just hoping they would shut up and let her enjoy dinner. She squeezed out a third packet onto the corner of Ichabod's burger wrapper while the group of men moved to the register, continuing their argument as they ordered. "There." Abbie tossed the packets onto the tray and picked up her own burger. "At least they don't run to bottles of ketchup here." She smirked at Ichabod's blank look and tried to ignore the heated words of the group as Tim insisted on whatever it was that he claimed he'd seen. "Even the most seasoned of Ketchup Connoisseurs have trouble with those."

"You're a prick, Dave. I'm telling you, it was a motherfuckin' pirate ship, sails and all-"

"Hey!" A lady seated with two children nearby caught the men's' attention and glowered at them. "Do you mind watching your language?"

Ichabod watched the exchange furtively for a moment before turning his attention back to Abbie. "I would like to revise my earlier assessment of your character, leftenant:" he told her primly. "You are cruel _and _cold. Why must you mock me so?"

"Because it's fun, and it's easy."

"Hmph." As always, he struggled a bit with where to put his hands on the greasy blob of bread, meat, and condiments before he found an acceptable grip.

"Time," Dave snapped, clearly done with the conversation. "It was probably just some rich asshole tryin' to spook gullible idiots like you with his fancy yacht, and you fell for it. Just let it go."

Tim flipped Dave off, much to the anger of the mother who had tried to chastise them. "Listen dick, I know what I saw, alright. And what I saw wasn't no yacht. This was a friggen' huge ass ship, like right out of the movies, with the flag and everything. And I _saw_ people on it, man." The mother was gathering up her children and their food as quickly as possible now.

"Tim, you're a fucking moron."

Time shoved the one who said that, hard. "Call me a fucking moron again, asshole."

"Hey!" Ichabod, who had turned around with the intent of asking them politely to reign in their conversation actually jumped as Abbie's voice whipped out at the men and her palm slapped against the tabletop. "Knock it off meatheads."

Dave flashed a sneering, derisive glance at her. "How about you mind your own business, bitch."

Ichabod bristled and stood up abruptly. "Now look here-"

Abbie reached across the table with one hand, grabbing his sleeve and flipped open her badge with the other. "That's _Lieutenant _Bitch to you, buddy." Despite the fact that all four of the men towered over Abbie and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds didn't stop them from shifting under her furious expression. She may have been small, she may have still been seated, but she was fierce, and the men saw that now as she pinned each of them with a stern look. "My associate and I have had a rough couple of days, fellas, and we're just trying to enjoy our dinner. Not only are you disturbing our meal, you're disturbing the meals of everyone eating here tonight." She gestured around the room, to the people who were now watching with furrowed brows and slow nods. "Not to mention you're probably disturbing the people who have to serve your loud, annoying mouths. Now, unless you want to spend some time downtown, I'm gonna suggest that you get your food and take it home." A few people cheered at this, and one person even clapped.

"Ahem…" All four men, Abbie, Ichabod, and most of the other patrons turned at the small cough to see a trembling teen girl behind the counter holding a tray stacked with to-go bags. "Um… I have your order-"

Tim, Dave, and their friends all glowered at each other, then Abbie, before they grabbed their food and exited the building. Ichabod smiled faintly as he slid back into his seat, with that look in his eyes that he always adopted when they got into mischief. Abbie chuckled at him, bewildered. "What?"

The soldier grinned at her. "I do so enjoy watching you be a… what was that term… 'hard ass'."

Abbie rolled her eyes at him. "Jenny teach you that one?"

"Yes." He delicately dragged a fry through his ketchup, lamenting the sad fact that this eatery chose these irritating little packets over the convenience of the condiment pumps. "Leftenant?"

"Yeah?"

"Are ships in the Hudson that rare a sight now?"

Abbie shrugged. "Well… a ship like that guy was saying, yeah. They've got all that fiberglass or whatever it is now. You want to see a ship like that, you need to go on a pleasure cruise or something like that. Pirate ships, I dunno." She wiped her fingers on a napkin as she frowned out the window where the four men still seemed to be arguing. "We still have pirates unfortunately, and I don't know how they'd compare to pirates from your… you know." She lowered her voice even more. "But nowadays they're high-tech and pretty dang scary. I'm sure if we took a hard look down in the docks or asked around the department, we'd find out there was at least a half-dozen smuggling operations being worked out of the port. I don't know if we have any… full-blown _pirates_ by today's definitions though. And definitely none with an old, wooden schlooper or whatever they're called."

"I think you mean a sloop."

"Probably." She tilted her head to the side, regarding him with curiosity. "Did you do a lot of sailing way back when?"

Ichabod smirked. "No, not really. Truth be told, I don't have the stomach for sea-faring."

"Yet you left the comfort of your teaching position at Oxford to cross the Atlantic so you could join the cause."

Ichabod nodded slowly. "What I thought was a noble, worthy cause at the time."

Abbie grinned. "Yeah well, you came to your senses, didn't you?" She began gathering up their garbage and stood. "Come on, I'll take you home."

* * *

After dropping Ichabod off at the cabin with his books and his notes, and telling him she'd be back at the usual time tomorrow morning, Abbie headed back to her apartment. She stopped at the gas station to fill the tank in the SUV, and picked up some of Jenny's energy drinks. By the time she arrived home it was nearly midnight and she could feel her mind already shutting down.

Abbie dropped the bag next to the door, kicked it shut with her foot, then proceeded to fall face-first into the couch cushions.

Jenny looked up from her book. She was seated in the armchair next to the couch, her legs tucked up under her with one of Abbie's old throws wrapped tight around her lower half. "Bout time you got here." Abbie merely grunted in reply. "Did you manage to drag Icky away from the books, or is he still holed up in the archives?"

Abbie sighed and shifted around until she was on her back, her arm draped over her eyes. "He's working on something, but he won't tell me what it is exactly. I convinced him to go home, but he took a bunch of the books with him."

Jenny closed her book and set it aside. "How's he doing?"

"His face is still a mess and if he forgets himself and goes to rub his cheek or nose or something, it still hurts him. He's exhausted and frustrated and won't stop thinking about… all of it." She sighed again, rubbing her eyes as though she could rub away the ache behind them.

"Maybe you shouldn't have left him out there by himself, Abs."

"Thought about it—bringing him here." Abbie hauled herself up, rotating her head on her shoulders. Her vertebrae popped and some of the tension in her head eased. "He does better in the quiet, though. He won't admit it, but he has a difficult time sleeping in the city, with all the noise. When he was staying in the motel, he only slept when he finally shut down, and I swear he drank more coffee than the entire Westchester County PD goes through in a month." She sighed, though, and studied Jenny for a moment. "Hey… maybe tomorrow you could babysit him for me. Get him out of the Archives for a while. What do you say?"

Jenny shrugged, a small grin on her face. "Sure, no prob. I'm sure we can figure out something to do."

Abbie stared at her sister through narrowed, suspicious eyes. "You know, maybe I'll just-"

"Oh come on, mama bird's gotta let her chicks fly." Jenny teased.

Shaking her head, Abbie pushed herself off the couch and slouched towards her room. "Whatever, just don't get arrested."

"I can't make any promises, Abs."

* * *

**Please review!**


	6. Confessions and Revelations

**Hello again my lovely readers! I've missed you this last week. Are you doing well? Are you getting enough sleep? Are you washing behind your ears and eating all your vegetables?**

**Good. As a reward, here is the next chapter. **

* * *

Abbie stood before the fridge the next morning, staring without really comprehending the note stuck to the freezer door.

_Abs._

_Tried to wake you up, but you sleep like a certain 250 y/o friend of ours. _

_Anyway, woke up early and headed out to get Crane. Since you didn't specify what you wanted me to do with him, we're going down to Manhattan to do nefarious and illicit things. I've been thinking that our dear Icky could loosen up some, so I'm going to buy him a prostitute. Don't worry, I'll make sure she's at least kinda clean. Since we're both broke, I borrowed $50 from your wallet._

_Also, mine won't start again so I'm taking your car._

_-Jenny._

_Ps: I lied. I didn't borrow $50, I just took one of your credit cards._

Abbie sighed and ran a hand through her hair, wincing at the pain in her side from the action. Last night, she'd told Jenny Ichabod was still having trouble with his injuries. The truth was, Abbie could hardly lift her arm without experiencing a sharp pain all through her right side. She cussed under her breath, cradling her injured arm with her good one as she turned away from the fridge and headed to the bathroom to get ready for her day.

* * *

When Jenny had pulled up to Corbin's old cabin, it was to Ichabod swinging his hatchet. The pile resting against the cabin was already taller than her own head, and spanned nearly half the length of the building, yet Ichabod continued to chop. _Abbie was right._ Jenny thought grimly, honking the horn to announce her arrival. Ichabod paused in the act of setting up another log, flicking a glance her way before returning to his work. _He's twisted up about something. _Jenny pulled off into the patch of dirt they used as a driveway and sat back in her chair, watching him work his way through the pile of wood. It was actually quite comfortable sitting here in the car with the heat on and Ace of Base pouring out of the CD player, watching the handsome soldier vent his frustration. After twenty minutes, though, he rolled his shoulders and wedged the blade into the stump he used to cut the wood, then headed over to the car. She rolled down the window and turned off the CD player as he approached, smiling out at him. "Mornin' soldier boy."

Ichabod smirked at that and leaned against the door. "A pleasure as always, Miss Jenny, but I wasn't expecting to see you today."

"Change of plans, buddy. I'm kidnapping you for the day."

Ichabod blinked at this. "Oh?"

Jenny nodded. "Yeah, I want to go down to Manhattan, but Abbie is busy with her dead Hessian. Thought I'd see if you wanted to come."

Ichabod smiled and patted a hand against her shoulder. "I appreciate the offer, Miss Jenny, but I have-"

Jenny laughed, grabbing his wrist gently. "I'm sorry, let me rephrase." She lifted her other hand to her chest and pretended to clear her throat. "You, Ichabod, are going to go inside and get cleaned up. Then you, Ichabod, are going to come out and get in the car, and you, again Ichabod, are going to come with me, Jenny, down to the city because you, _still Ichabod_, need a _break_." Her finger shot out to press against his lips, silencing the argument she could see forming on them. "Break, Crane. You need one."

Ichabod inhaled sharply, then exhaled against her finger. "I don't suppose I'll win this argument."

"Not a chance. Go get cleaned up, dude." To make sure he wouldn't try to argue further, she cranked up the volume and rolled up the window. Before he reached the stairs, though, she rolled the window back down and shouted at his back, "And put on some of the clothes Abbie bought you!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later they were on the outskirts of the village, heading down the Saw Mill Parkway. Though he'd kept his stupid jacket, Ichabod had pulled on a pair of jeans and one of the more casual button-ups that Abbie had bought. This one was gray, and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked pretty good. That he hadn't even put up a fight was bothering Jenny: usually, whenever one of the sisters tried to get him to wear modern clothing, he launched into one of his tirades. She sincerely doubted that he had changed his mind on the matter overnight. Jenny drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, suddenly doubting just how good of an idea this was: Abbie was much better at this… talking, relating kind of deal, and Abbie understood Ichabod in a way Jenny was sure no one else could. When she tried to think of tactful ways to bring up his wife or his son, she would start chewing on the inside of her cheek in agitation. Ichabod seemed equally as wary, and so the first half of their journey was in complete silence.

"Okay." It was _almost_ amusing the way Crane jumped at her sudden exclamation. "I've been trying to think of a way to be subtle about this, but I'm just gonna ask." He looked over at him, and he stared solemnly right back. "Are you okay?"

The soldier looked back out the passenger-side window, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee cap. He understood her meaning, and while he appreciated the sentiment behind her question, he was experiencing an unusual feeling of coldness towards his current companion. "I am… dealing."

"Okay." Her hand reached over the console between them, ignoring the way he flinched away from her when she grabbed his hand and held tight. "Listen Crane, Abbie and I… we're gonna help you. You and Katrina; we'll do whatever we can. You know that, right?" When Ichabod remained silent, she pressed on. "Ichabod."

"Miss Jenny…" He took a deep breath and laid his hand over hers. "Let us not speak of it now, please."

She gave his hand a hard squeeze. "Alright. So, has Abbie introduced you to Wheezer yet?"

* * *

Still babying her aching arm and side, Abbie sat crooked in her chair as she did all her work one-handed. She was grateful that (so far) she didn't have any field work, but trying to find a comfortable position was basically impossible. Finally she gave up with a groan and stretched out to the best of her ability, kicking her feet up on the desk. For five blissful minutes, she was able to ignore the pain and actually relax before she was so rudely interrupted.

"Where's your shadow?"

Abbie's lips tightened into a thin line as she fought not to snap something harsh back at Luke. She slit an eye open and glared at him. "So not in the mood for your jealous bullshit, _Morales._"

The detective scowled. "So I'm Morales now, huh?"

"When you're being a tool, yeah."

"Come on, Abbie-"

"Don't, Luke." She finally did snap at him, dropping her feet and sitting up abruptly.

"Abbie, that guy is bad news, alright?" Even when she shoved away from her desk and stormed out into the hall, he refused to relent. He only followed her, shoving two uniforms out of his way when they stepped off the elevator. "When are you going to realize that?"

"When are you going to realize your advice is no longer welcome?" She spun around and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Luke, listen to me." She lowered her voice, looking around at all the prying ears and curious eyes and grabbed his elbow. She tugged Luke down the hall and shoved him into an empty conference room. He didn't protest, but the sour look on his face told her exactly what he thought about being hidden away. "You and I…" She huffed and swiped her thumb over her lips, giving herself a moment to think. "You and I… what we had was good. And I know it was… kind of cold of me to break it off so I could go to DC, and I know I stayed, and I know you hoped we were going to get back together." She looked up to see his eyes had softened, and a small, expectant smile had replaced his scowl. She pressed on. "I thought… maybe. But there was so much happening… Corbin's death, the murders, Andy, Crane… It just wasn't the right time." She put her hands on her hips, and glared down at her boots. "It's just not in the cards right now, Luke. I can't give you the time or attention you deserve with everything going on, and…" She looked up, regret in her eyes. "I don't want to, anymore."

Luke was dumbstruck, staring at her with his mouth partway open.

Abbie left him at her desk, and went to get coffee.

* * *

Thanks to Jenny's… 'creative' driving technique, they cut the hour-long trip down to thirty minutes. _She's even worse than her sister._ Ichabod thought weakly, trying not to panic as she shot through the intersection, narrowly avoiding a car coming from the other direction. If she noticed him cringe when horns started blaring, she didn't mention it. If she noticed him pinch the bridge of his nose when they had to stop at a railroad crossing for the train that lumbered by, and that train blasted it's horn, she didn't mention it. She chatted to him about trivial, inconsequential things or explained some nuance of modern life that he had yet to be introduced to as they drove. When they hit the city, the cacophony of sounds that penetrated the shell of the car caused a pained scowl to distort Ichabod's features. Jenny gave him a bolstering shoulder-pat. "Try not to look so grim, Crane. We're gonna have fun, which you desperately need to do."

"It's so…" He pursed his lips, searching for the right word.

"Big?"

"Enormous. I still find myself lost from time to time in Sleepy Hollow. And this…"

Jenny smiled. "Do you wanna hold my hand?"

He slid a withering sidelong look her way before his eyes landed on a group of girls in the shortest trousers he'd ever seen. He blushed, and quickly averted his eyes. And what is it you have planned for us today?" He asked, wide eyes roaming over the people crowded shoulder-to-shoulder on the sidewalks. "You never did say."

"I don't know. Sightseeing, shopping, lunch. Whatever we decide. Hey, we could try and catch a movie. Has Abbie taken you to a movie theater yet?"

"No."

"Good, there's something we can do. But first," Ichabod couldn't help smiling at the infectious grin that grossed her features then. "My keen little eye spots a sale."

When she thought back on it later, taking him to a loud, noisy, overcrowded city had been a really stupid idea.

* * *

With two cups of strong black coffee in hand, Abbie headed down to the morgue. "Yo, Doctor B!" She called out as she entered the autopsy room, setting Berenski's coffee on his desk. "If you've got an update for me, you can have this coffee."

The old man laughed, and motioned for her to follow him to the wall of drawers. "Fair enough. Our friend here-" He unlatched the freezer door and threw it open, then grabbed the platform and dragged it out. Her stiff lay under the white sheet of the dead, his skin paper-white and the bruises that death left behind coloring his face. "Had a slow, painful death. I've found some interesting injuries, including six broken fingers, a series of shallow, parallel lacerations on either arm, as well as abrasions on his wrists and ankles from being bound for an extended period of time. I've sent fiver samples to the lab for analysis, but I'm leaning towards good, old-fashioned rope."

"Torture." Berenski nodded. Sighing, the lieutenant ran a hand through her hair. "He wasn't tied up when we found him."

"No. In fact, he has scrapes around these abrasions, and in the wounds I found paint flecks. I think he may have cut himself free and tried to escape. Then, our killer finds his escaped victim, and dispatches him with a sword thrust through the heart." He held up his hand. "Speculation, of course."

Abbie shook her head. "Why didn't he just kill him in the first place? Why'd he torture the guy?" Abbie worried her lip between her teeth, dreading the answer.

Berenski merely shrugged. "Why does one torture anyone? Pleasure? Information? Your friend said the house was searched. Maybe our killer needed something from our victim before killing him." Abbie thought back to Ichabod's words as well, and recalled their conversation in the car. He'd mentioned it was odd that they hadn't found any indication that the Hessians had known each other. They'd searched each dead soldier's house after the identifications had been made and the warrants drawn up, and even though the department had only been delayed a few hours in waiting for those things, each home had already been tossed. Torture-for-information was looking pretty good, but she held her tongue, unwilling to bring her friend into this mess. Berenski, bless him, seemed to be making connections on his own. "You know Miss Mills, you've been sending us quite the assortment of intriguing these last few months." He quirked a brow at the way her face closed off, unwilling to share even a tidbit of information with him. "The paranoid conspiracy theorist in me is starting to think there's something going on in Sleepy Hollow that you, your friend, and the captain aren't sharing with the rest of us."

Abbie let out a low, tired laugh and responded with an apologetic smirk. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Doc."

* * *

**So I saw the latest episode, and while I liked it (a LOT) here's where that "I may or may not end up totally ignoring cannon from this point onwards" disclaimer comes in. SPOILERS AHEAD:**

**I've decided to ignore Jones's death, because I see no reason why he should have died while that DICK Morales lived (if he did, I don't know, they left that kind of open…). Also, I have an inkling of how I may use him later so… yeah. Alright.**

**Leave a review and you can have some of my Oreos.**


	7. Moving forward (Author's Note)

Hmm.

So this new episode, this evil, vile, amazing, mind-blowing episode pretty much destroyed what I had set up for this story, with all its… its… its plot twists and WTF moments and omg.

Do I… Do I continue this story? The season finale rendered this story so obsolete, does anyone want to see it continue as a complete and total AU?

Please, let me know. I have this week's chapter written up but if nobody cares anymore I'll probably just delete the story.


	8. Misadventures in Crane-Sitting pt1

**Still reeling from the season finale. I don't know if I'll ever recover, to tell you the truth.**

**Anyway, you, my darling readers have spoken and so here's your present for the week from your favorite Fabulous Person, chappie seven, significantly longer than the others and complete with pirates and Ichabod whumpage because let's face it, Tom Mison is just one of those actors who inexplicably gets 12910293882174% hotter when he's in distress.**

* * *

_Skinny jeans._ Ichabod thought with utter contempt for the garment Jenny threw at him. "Absolutely not."

The elder Mills laughed at his sour expression. "Oh come on Ichabod, just try them on!"

The soldier was shaking his head before she'd even finished, carefully folding the detestable pants up once more. "No. I will not wear these… these atrocious, suffocating leggings." He winced at the memory of trying to sit in the pair Abbie had bought him so long ago. "They pinch."

Jenny had to put her hand over her mouth to hold in the laughter. When she finally regained her composure, she cleared her throat and took the pants back from him. "Man the big, bad, and British Witness afraid of a pair of pants. Humanity is in good hands." She smiled at his dramatic eye-roll and tossed the pants back onto the shelf. She found another pair, artfully torn and faded and held them up in front of his waist, ignoring the blush and stutter that inevitably followed. "Yeah, I think the grunge look would be hot on you."

Ichabod's face turned an unhealthy shade of red as he stepped out of her way. "I think not." But he took the jeans and held them up with a disdainful eye. "These trousers are torn to pieces." When he saw the price tag his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "_Seventy-five dollars!?"_ He brandished the pants at her, incredulous. "Do people actually pay this much to wear shredded pants?!" He demanded.

Now Jenny did laugh, snatching the offensive clothing back from him before he could draw any more attention. "Shh, keep it down Captain America. Yeah, they do. It's all about style."

"_Style_." He groused.

Jenny laughed again. "Come on grandpa, get with the times, huh?" She elbowed him in the ribs and put the jeans back on their shelf as well. He'd adamantly refused to let her buy him any new clothes, but she found two pairs of pants for herself and a shirt she thought Abbie might like. Then while shopping for Abbie, she'd seen some stuff on the youth side of the aisle and picked up a few things Macey might like. She happily charged it all to her sister's card, and then headed back to the SUV with Crane.

He breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped outside, freed from the madness in the building. That pressure was building up behind his left eye again, a persistent ache that he had developed in the last few months and had flared up during this recent ordeal. It made his head pound and shortened his temper dangerously. He appreciated Jenny's company and kindness, truly, and he didn't want to appear ungrateful for everything the Mills sisters had done for him, but these outings only made his head ache and his stomach turn. His recent bout of sleepless nights hadn't done anything to help, and his unwillingness to eat anything but donuts or the occasional burger was probably helping even less. All this modern food tasted odd on his tongue or didn't sit well in his stomach. He pinched the bridge of his nose as they approached the car, trying to fend off the pain behind his eyes without alerting Miss Jenny to his discomfort. It did little to help, and shaking his head only made him dizzy. Steeling himself, he opened his eyes, squinting against the bright spring light as they reached the car and Jenny opened the back so they could stow the bags. "Where to now, Miss Jenny?" He asked.

Jenny hummed shoving the bags in with the rest of the stuff they'd bought today before checking her watch. "It's noon, we could get lunch."

Ichabod inclined his head. "That sounds a splendid idea." Being the taller of the two, he reached up to close the hatch.

Jenny snickered and gave his arm a playful shove on her way past. "'Splendid idea'. Come on Shakespeare, let's get a slice."

Ichabod blinked, hesitating for moment before following. "A slice of what?"

* * *

Abbie wanted a second look at the crime scenes. She decided to go back through each of the Hessian's places with a metaphorical fine-toothed comb. She searched through books, through clothing, tapped on walls, played their videos and CDs, and swore at their computers when she swallowed her reluctance and tried to search them as well. Of course, the extent of her computer knowledge ran to playing games and surfing the web, so she quickly gave that up as a lost cause and focused on the rest of the house.

Her searched turned up nothing helpful, until she returned Fredrickson's home.

She could still detect the stench of violent death under the harsh chemicals used by the CSI techs to run their tests. She paused by the taped outline in the doorway leading to the kitchen, picturing Fredrickson lying there, wounded and dying. She stepped over the outline into the kitchen, her eyes sweeping the mess that had been made. In her mind's eye she saw the man at the coffee maker that had been smashed beyond repair in the attack, brewing himself some of the cheap instant coffee he preferred. Then she saw the tall, faceless figure come up from behind with the bat, and swing it over his head. Fredrickson heard, ducked out of the way and instead of braining him, the bat destroyed the coffee maker. She turned away, glancing briefly at the bloodstains on the counter a few feet away. One of the drawers had been pulled open, and judging by the loose rounds rolling around in the bottom, Fredrickson had gone to get his gun, and the attacker had gotten in a hit.

She left the kitchen and headed down the hall, carefully stepping around the blood splatter and debris, stopping to examine the hole in the wall that had been blown wide by a blast from a shotgun. She stopped before she reached the bedroom, looking down at the dark stain of blood on the floor and wall. This was where the attacker had incapacitated Fredrickson. She stepped over the stain and into the bedroom, where more blood covered the floor and walls. She crouched at the end of the bed, ran her gloved fingers over the splintered leg that Fredrickson's wrists had been chained to during the torture, and the gouges in the floor from his teeth and fingers. This was the most chaotic room in the house, clearly having been searched from top-to-bottom by the assailant.

They'd brought in scanners and metal detectors and even an x-ray but they hadn't found any secret compartments or safes. Sighing in frustration she left the room and headed back out into the main house.

* * *

Ichabod soon discovered that 'a slice' meant the wonderful thing known as pizza.

He rather enjoyed it, even managed to hold down two entire pieces while Jenny managed twice that. She'd taunted him with a smirk and a "come on bro, get on my pizza level", but he'd only smiled and pushed his plate aside. Then Jenny used her smart phone to check for local movie times. She decided his first trip to the theater needed to be a memorable one, so she picked one that looked like it would have plenty of cliché action-movie tropes and they headed over to the theater.

Once again she was treated to the hilarious spectacle of his outrage over some nuance of modern life.

They made it through the ticket line, and Jenny was wise enough to take him into the theater and find them seats before she went to get the snacks. She returned with a bucket of popcorn, two Cokes and a box of Milk Duds, pleased to see that Crane hadn't wandered off or given her seat away. "Got fuel." Once again Ichabod ignored his better judgment and accepted the large bucket of buttery kernels. He had enjoyed the popped corn, though watching Abbie make it had nearly blown his mind. Abbie remembered that night with uncontrollable giggles while Ichabod remembered it with many sighs and eye-rolling. Still, it had been a most delicious snack and he popped a few pieces into his mouth. Jenny, who had been watching him slyly from the corner of her eye, grinned. "Tastes different then that bagged stuff, huh?"

The soldier nodded, and ate another few pieces. "I don't understand, it is the same snack, yet tastes… so much better."

Jenny laughed. "Congratulations Grandpa," She lowered her voice to a whisper as the lights dimmed and the endless reel of adverts turned to the first preview of the movie, "-you've finally caught up with the 21st century."

* * *

She didn't see it until she was standing in the middle of the entry way, pulling on her hair and glaring around the man's disgusting apartment.

At first, she thought… no. The techs wouldn't have missed something like that. She pulled open the door to the hall closet, and stooped to examine the splintering along the frame. There wasn't much, not enough to be consistent with someone kicking the door down but enough that it looked like someone had ripped the flimsy wood door open in a rage then slammed it just as hard. She looked into the closet, glancing at the three coats and two pairs of shoes inside, and frowned. Through the rest of Fredrickson's house, closets had been stuffed to the bursting point with stuff, while this closet was nearly empty. He didn't look like the kind of man to care about making a first impression on any guests willing to visit. She dipped her hands into the pockets of the jackets, carefully examined the linings, even searched the smelly shoes before she started running her hands over the walls, tapping her knuckles here and there.

She was on her knees, doing the same to the floorboards when she realized one of the baseboards was scuffed up.

Truthfully all the baseboards looked ugly and scratched, but they didn't have an inch-wide divot in the top and splinters on the ground in front of them. Abbie bit her lip, trying not to get her hopes up as she pulled out her keys and jammed one into the divot. It took a little bit of wiggling, but after a moment the molding fell away.

Beneath it was a narrow metal plate with a keyhole. Taped to the back of the board was the fucking key.

She fumbled with the key as she peeled it from the board and tried to jam it into the lock. It slid in, a perfect fit and before she even turned it there was a click. There was a thunking sound from the heating grate set in the back wall, then that was falling away, revealing the hole behind. And there it was. There was the safe.

And it was already opened.

She quickly took out her phone and snapped a few pictures of the scene before she hooked her finger gingerly into the door of the safe and pulled it open. There was only on thing in the safe: a small white envelope with Ichabod Crane written in elegant script on the front.

* * *

They made it nearly twenty minutes into the movie before Ichabod wanted to leave.

He only pretended to eat the popcorn, and only nursed the Coke to wash down the bile that kept burning in the back of his throat. His stomach was in agony and with every gun shot and explosion the pain in his head intensified. He shifted uncomfortably in his uncomfortable theater seat, lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes narrowed against the chaotic picture on the screen. His fingers fidgeted on the plastic arm of the chair, clenching every time the sounds of war blasted overhead.

The hero of the movie rolled behind a car as a grenade exploded a few feet away.

Ichabod closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose.

"Hey, you okay?" Jenny whispered.

Ichabod jerked his head yes. "I… need to use the facilities." He murmured, handing her the popcorn and Coke. "I shall return shortly."

She touched his arm. "You… gonna be okay to find it?" She asked, doubt clear in her voice.

"Miss Jenny I am a grown man and have been in your time long enough that these misgivings you and your sister have about my abilities are beginning to become insulting." He jerked his arm away and moved quickly down between the seats until he reached the aisle. Once out in the lobby he paused, throwing up his arms to shield his eyes from the suddenly blinding light. He blinked to clear his eyes, squinting hatefully around at the people who paused to smirk at him on their way to their movies, to the restrooms, or the concession stand. Ichabod rubbed his hands against his face and walked towards the sign indicating the public washrooms. His steps never slowed, carrying him beyond the bathroom to the front entrance.

He wanted air.

Once he was outside, he paused again, his eyes slamming shut against the unfiltered sunlight. _Maybe I'll just sit in the car…_ His feet drove him in the direction of the SUV, forgetting that he didn't have the keys anyway but it didn't matter. Before he'd even reached the vehicle, he'd changed his mind again. The soldier pushed forward until he reached the edge of the lot. Then he crossed the street, crossed another, walked five more blocks, turned a corner, crossed another street. Every time he thought to stop, his feet continued forward, heedless of his thoughts. He kept walking, ignoring the ache of his stomach and skull until he reached a park.

It was mostly abandoned in the middle of a weekday, but here and there couples lounged, children played under the watchful eyes of their caretakers, and people in suits or uniforms took their breaks. Ichabod steered away from these people, his head down and his hands clasped behind his back. He made it another twenty feet before he veered off, ducking behind a bush to be violently ill.

The pizza and popcorn and sodas burned on their way back up, making his eyes water and his head swim.

He wished suddenly that he hadn't been so quick to snap at Miss Jenny, that he had refused the pizza and popcorn and, most importantly, that he had refused to come on this little adventure. As he emptied the contents of his stomach into the dirt, praying no one would come upon him in this moment of weakness, he longed for his warm bed and a cup of tea.

* * *

"Captain it's Mills. I was hoping to catch you, but I'm on my way back from investigating the Fredrickson crime scene again, I should be in-house in twenty minutes." The envelope was sealed in an evidence baggie and tucked into her jacket. "If you're available, I'd like to give my report in-person. It's… I think you'll want to hear what I found, Captain." She hoped he would get the voicemail soon, and jogged across the street to her car, turning it all over in her mind.

Why the hell would there be a letter addressed to Crane in the Hessian's safe? She was conflicted, unsure whether or not she should talk to Crane about it before she had a chance to meet with Irving. Maybe she should open it herself, then she might have a better idea. She stopped in front of her car, pulling the baggie from her jacket and staring down at the envelope. _But I trust Ichabod. If I open this without him… will he think that I don't? What if it's something… what if it's another fucking bombshell? I should open it; I should open it so I can think of a way to break it to him gently. He's already acting weird, if we add something like this to the mix, he might freak out or something. _She turned and leaned back against the hood of the car, sighing. _This is getting to be a damn p-_

Cop instinct prickled at the back of her neck, and she whirled around with a hand slapped against the butt of her gun.

He stood there at the other end of her vehicle, looking exactly as he had that day in the office. The bandana was pulled up just under his eyes, obscuring his face but she didn't need to see his mouth to know that when she whirled to face him, it spread into a wide smile. She could see it in his eyes. He stood with his hands in his pockets and his jacket swaying slightly in the breeze.

He looked like the enigmatic hero on some fucking post-apocalyptic movie poster. She dropped the evidence bag and drew her gun, aiming it at his heart. "Let me see your hands, buddy." The man quirked a brow and pulled his hands from his pockets slowly, lifting them up in surrender without a word. "Who the hell are you?"

She hadn't expected him to answer, so when he did she found herself tightening her grip on her gun. "Not an enemy."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. What's your name?"

The guy smiled again. "Which one? I have a lot."

"First and last, smart ass."

"I have a lot."

"Do you want me to shoot you?"

The man shook his head slowly. "Believe it or not, I want to help." He turned his hand, revealing the tiny thumb drive he had clenched between his second and third fingers. "You're going to find a list of names and addresses on this flash drive. Some of them are dead, some of them still alive. Took me a while to dig it up." He nodded behind her at Fredrickson's house. "Our mutual friend helped me out."

Abbie's eyes widened. "So it was you. You tortured-"

"I've done a lot worse _to_ a lot worse, and to a lot better. Take the flash drive, Leftenant Mills." When she jerked in surprise, he flicked the drive through the air towards her. "A gesture of goodwill from me to you." Abbie was stunned enough to lower her gun and fumble to catch the device, taking her eyes off the man for less than a second. But when she looked up again he was gone.

* * *

He found a bench to sit on, wiping his sleeve despondently across his mouth. He felt shaky and exhausted, but he didn't have the energy to find the theater again just yet. He rubbed a hand against his stomach, trying to ease the pain and the trembling. As he sat there lamenting his current situation, he found his mind drifting back in time to revisit happier memories. Memories of his childhood in London, of his classes at Oxford, or stolen nights with Katrina and of the life they'd started to build. He sat with his eyes closed and his arms braced on his knees, trying not to vomit again.

"Stand up." Ichabod's head shot up but before he could open his mouth the two men that were looming over him reached down and grabbed his arms, hauling him to his feet. "Don't make a fucking sound, _Admiral_, or you'll be coughing up gunpowder." Had it not been for the barrel of the gun digging into his side then, Ichabod might have protested. As it were he nodded his head and let himself be steered out of the park.

* * *

**Cliffhangerrrrrr~!**

**You know. In the spirit of that WONDERFUL, AMAZING, NOT-TRAUMITIZING AT ALL season finale.**

**A favorite/follow will let you nurse poor sicky Ichy back to health. A review will get you a Louisville Slugger to beat the shit out of his kidnappers.**


	9. Misadventures in Crane-Sitting pt2

**Still FREAKING out from that finale, I tell you. **

**Luckily I have that new show Rick and Morty to tide me over on Mondays… it's not the same but it's better than sitting in the corner of the room rocking back and forth whispering "Henry nooooo" to myself over and over again.**

**Still can't comprehend all dat Henry business…**

**So I've been on a roll the last week. Uploading this is really weird because I've already typed up the next seven chapters and I feel really like... backwards and confused. Because of all that, I'm wondering if you guys are interested in a bi-weekly update for the next month or so. **

**Or we can stay at one chap a week, and stretch this out. Fall is a long ways away.**

**Let me know your thoughts on this.**

**Anyway, here we go, chaper-ola eight.**

* * *

They marched him from the park, one on either side of him. Their oddly mismatched clothes were patched and worn, and gave off a faintly damp, musty smell. Their hands were so calloused they caught on his wool coat, snagging the fabric as they manhandled him out of the park. "I haven't any money or valuables." Ichabod muttered, sucking in a breath when the one with the gun dug the muzzle harder against his ribs.

"I told ya to keep yer trap shut."

Ichabod winced again at the gun digging painfully into his side, and the bruising grip they had on his arms. "If you just tell me what you want-"

"Shut it!" The assailant hissed, jabbing the pistol so hard into Ichabod's side it took his breath away. The man glared around at the handful of people at the entrance to the park, baring his teeth when one concerned-looking woman glanced their way. Ichabod swallowed thickly and tried to jerk out of the grip but the strange men held fast, steering him towards the street. "Pick up the pace."

There was a black SUV parked haphazardly against the curb a few yards from the park entrance. There was a man leaning against it, trying to look casual but when the trio drew near, he jumped to his feet and pulled open the back passenger-side door. Tasting bile on his tongue once more Ichabod began to struggle again. "Let go of me!" He barked. It nearly worked. The few people near enough to hear him and see the scuffle stopped and turned, confusion and fear mixing on their faces, but they were almost at the car and no one was reacting. Many of them only paused momentarily before continuing on, their heads ducked. Ichabod growled and thrashed in his kidnapper's hands, twisting his body and kicking his feet. "Unhand me! Help! Somebody call the police!"

A woman screamed, a man shouted, and the gunman cracked the pistol against the side of his head. More people were screaming now, and he felt the gun-less abductor crash into him when a passerby lunged forward, trying to help. Another man leaped out of the back of the SUV, wrapping his arm around Ichabod's throat and hauling him towards the vehicle. There was so much confusion, so much noise, and the blow had knocked Ichabod senseless. He struggled weakly against his captors, fighting back the blackout that he could feel approaching. Then he was in the car, the arm tight around his throat, cutting off his oxygen and next thing he knew there was something being pressed against his face and a foul smell in his nose. Someone was screaming, the engine was roaring to life, there were gunshots…

And then Ichabod was tumbling bonelessly into darkness.

* * *

Abbie had barely cut the ignition before she was slamming out of the car and racing up the steps into the precinct. She brushed off greetings and calls, breaking into a jog when she realized people just weren't getting the message that she was in a hurry. "He in?" She fired at his admin. Then, without waiting for an answer she barreled through the captain's door into his office. "Captain I-… oh."

Cynthia Irving smiled up at her from the chair in front of her ex-husband's desk. "Hello lieutenant."

It was weird with the captain's ex now. It had always been kind of weird, but ever since the Ancitif incident, now that the woman knew… too much, it was even weirder. She looked tired but happy, and Abbie took that to mean that Macey was doing well and that she and Frank hadn't been arguing. Irving stood from his seat, eyeing her reproachfully. "Can I help you, lieutenant Mills?" He asked.

Abbie cleared her throat. "It's… I just need to talk to you sir. It's kind of important. Big Bad kind of important." Her eyes flicked to Cynthia, whose face shut down so quickly her emotions might have been attached to a light switch. "I can come back-"

Cynthia shook her head and gathered up her things. "No. I was leaving in a moment anyway, I don't like to leave Macey alone too long. I'll call you later Frank." She nodded to her husband, then crossed to Abbie and embraced the shorter woman tightly. The hug lasted only a few seconds but it paralyzed the stalwart lieutenant. "Take care, Abbie." The woman murmured. Then she was gone, the door was closed, and Abbie was alone with her captain.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Frank shook his head. "No, this takes precedence and we were done anyway. What have you found?"

Abbie hurried forward, pulling the thumb drive and the evidence bag from her pocket. "It's more _who_ I found."

And she told him.

* * *

"He admitted to being the one who tortured and killed Fredrickson?"

"Well… no. He implied it though-"

"Mills we need facts, we need a confession. Not allegation."

"I'm aware of that sir but I didn't exactly have a recorder on me at the time and I was…" She shook her head, embarrassed. "I was caught off guard. You didn't see this guy move, Captain he was like a damn ghost: there one moment gone the next. I never even saw him coming. And I mean…" Her finger tapped against the sealed envelope with Crane's name printed on it. "Captain this is something big. This is something Moloch big, and I'm not saying that because of the Hessian connection. I think… I think this letter is from our mystery guy. That safe had clearly been cleaned out and we were meant to find this. Then he shows up as soon as I do with a list of name I suspect will belong to other members of the Fifth Regiment? Supposedly, I mean. Unfortunately, Captain, it's looking like we do have some crazy sword-wielding Batman out in the streets, wiping out Moloch's human forces." She said, echoing his words from yesterday. "But it's looking like he might be on our side. I hate to say it but we can use all the help we get."

"Sadly Mills, we have to adhere to the letter of the law, and the law doesn't account for demons and their brainwashed disciples. Next time you have this guy in your sights, bring him in."

Abbie dropped into her seat and dropped her head onto her desk five minutes later. Speaking with Irving on these matters always left her feeling drained emotionally. She knew he'd lost his blinders when it came to the whole Biblical Apocalypse thing and still he… had his weird little block about it. It was like he understood it, he accepted it, but he refused to acknowledge it until he absolutely had to.

"Long shift?"

Abbie's head lifted and so did her spirits when Devon Jones's smiling face appeared in her vision. As he dropped into the seat across from hers she grinned in return. "Jones, I thought you weren't coming back on active duty for another few weeks."

His smile faded a bit but didn't lose any of its warmth. He wasn't happy about this extended leave, and he hated having it brought up. "Just filling out some paperwork, thought I'd drop in to say hey."

Abbie groaned. "Man, here I was thinking I'd have you back as a buffer."

"Morales giving you the business again?"

"He wishes." They both laughed, leaning back and kicking up their feet on the desk companionably. "He's alright, but it really is going to be great when you come back. Place doesn't feel the same without you, Jones."

Devon chuckled appreciatively. "Yeah, it's been an adjustment, having all this free time. Some days I think I'm going crazy from the boredom." He frowned, lifting a hand to rub his neck subconsciously.

Abbie shifted in her seat. Ancitif had nearly killed him, but Jones didn't remember the incident at all. In fact, he'd lost his memory of almost the entire week leading up to the incident. To this day he still couldn't recollect any of the details, but if Morales moved too quickly or spoke too loudly, you could see Devon flinch. Every time, she struggled with desire to tell him what had happened, but something always held her back. It didn't help that Morales was suffering the same amnesia. Maybe it was all for the better… "Maybe you should take up knitting." She suggested.

They laughed again. "Hey, so where's our professor friend?" He asked, clearly keen to shift the conversation away from himself.

Abbie shrugged. "He and my sister went down to Manhattan for the day. Haven't had any calls, so I'm assuming they're having a good time."

* * *

Jenny was in full-fledged panic mode.

She didn't want to be some hovering mother hen, but he'd been gone nearly twenty minutes, and that was unusual. He was pissed off, he was tired, whatever. He needed to cool down and she needed to cool down as well. And besides, he was, in fact, a grown ass man and could take care of himself. Next time she'd remember to not give a flying fuck about the man who was so charmingly befuddled by even the simplest aspects of the modern age. She tried to enjoy the bloodshed on-screen, tried not to be worried when he didn't come back after a few minutes, before she had a revelation that was just as worrying as it was irritating.

He was a soldier. A soldier who had fought in a violent war and had been thrust from that into the manic chaos of the present. Of course bringing him to a movie like this, when he was already running so ragged, wouldn't be the best idea. She checked her watch. She worried.

She waited another five minutes.

When he still didn't come back she took out her phone and sent him a message. Then she remembered who she was trying to text, and that they were in a theater, and of course he would have actually listened to the disembodied voice that asked everyone to turn off their cellular devices.

She thought about texting Abbie, and panicked some more. Jenny fidgeted for another five minutes before she jumped out of her seat and ran from the theater towards the restrooms. There were no doors, but a u-shaped hallway on either side of a long wall. The left had a sign that said "Women" and the right side said "Men". She walked to the end of the wall and called out. "Crane! Yo, you fall in or something? Come on Ichabod." There was no answer. "Ichabod?"

"You looking for someone?"

Jenny jumped at the voice, and turned to see a pimply-faced teen in the bright red vest of a theater worker. "Yeah, can you go in there and check for me? He's about yay tall-" she indicated his height with one hand, waving it above her head. "He's got a pony tail, he's wearing a… like a wool jacket that looks like something from a Revolutionary war film. He's British. His face is all bruised up-"

"Yeah yeah." The guy held up a hand. "Actually I saw that guy, he left like… I dunno a half hour ago or something." The teen flipped his greasy hair out of his face. "He like… your boyfriend?"

"Uh huh. Thanks kid." She jogged past the kid and out into the bright sunlight, blinking rapidly to combat the stinging n her eyes. She hurried to the car, and practically threw herself at the door. The second it was unlocked she ripped it open and climbed in, checking the back seats and the floor before admitting that he wasn't taking a nap in there and clambering back out onto the pavement. "Shit shit shit, where are you?" She murmured, eyes scanning the parking lot. She ran out, towards the street and looked up and down the sidewalk for any sign of the missing soldier. "God dammit, Ichabod!" She crossed the street and ran into the small coffee shop directly across from the entrance to the theater parking lot, and pushed her way to the front of the line. She fended off the irate customer's protests and braced her hands on the counter. "Please I'm looking for my friend, he's not answering his phone. You haven't seen a tall guy with a ponytail in an ugly coat and two black eyes come out of there have you?" She asked, pointing behind her in the direction of the theater.

The woman behind the counter shook her head, and though she was more sympathetic than when Jenny had first entered the shop, she looked about ready to tell her off. Then another woman came up behind her. "Um, I think I saw him yeah, maybe half an hour ago? He headed off in that direction." She pointed, and Jenny reached out, grabbing her hand tightly.

"Thank you!" She turned, pushing through the crowd of annoyed people and out onto the street again, running as fast as she could.

She called out to him as she ran, peering into shop windows and stopping people at random to ask if they'd seen him. She was just beginning to think she should call Abbie when she heard sirens in the distance. Ignoring the feeling of her heart plummeting into her stomach, Jenny changed course and sprinted in the direction of the sirens. More blasted behind her, and she turned her head in time to watch a cop car blast by her.

She kicked her speed, her legs burning fiercely as she ate up the pavement. Jenny saw the lights ahead, crowded around some park gate just a few blocks away from the theater. _Oh god oh god oh god, please Ichabod, don't let this be about you._ She prayed, skidding to a halt behind the crowd of gawkers. She shoved her way through, ignoring the angry outbursts until she was in the front of the crowd. "What happened?" She demanded of a large, heavyset woman wearing too much lipstick. The woman turned to her with bulging eyes, obviously excited by the opportunity to gossip.

"Ooooh my, it was so scary! These men grabbed some poor man off the street and drove off with him. One of the guys had a gun, and they shot at the people that tried to help. Apparently a woman was shot in the stomach, but I guess she's going to be alright." She didn't sound so thrilled about it. "Very scary."

The elder Mills tried not to hyperventilate as she reached out and grabbed the pudgy woman's arm. "Do you know who the guy they took was?"

"No, no one does!" She said to Jenny, her eyes wide. "He was just some guy. Probably some tourist. He was kind of strange. Well, that coat of his was anyway. He was quite good-looking."

Jenny had tuned the woman out by now, yanking out her phone. She dialed, and tangled her free hand in her hair as she waited for her sister to pick up.

* * *

Abbie bounced the USB drive in her palm, considering it. She didn't want to just plug it into her computer, not until she knew it was safe, or until she spoke to Ichabod. If this had to do with Hessians, then he needed to be brought up to speed. The note felt like a stone in her pocket, and she still couldn't decide how to proceed with it just yet. When her phone buzzed, the lieutenant jumped in surprise. She saw her sister's name and smiled.

"Hey, Jenny. You guys having-"

"_Abbie you need to come to Manhattan. I lost Crane and I think he's been abducted by the Hessians."_

* * *

**A follow/fave will give the kidnappers a flat tire. A review will give you a bad-ass motorcycle that you can use to chase down the car and rescue Ichabod.**


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